chocolate syrup
by concretecontrol
Summary: some days, naruto just wants to punch him in the face. wait, make that most days. cop!narutoxcop!sasuke


a:n| **lord. im doing it again! im writing another fan fiction. i plan to make this one maybe four chapters? its just a little idea ive had in my head for some time. yaaaaay cop!sasuke and cop!naruto. excuse my failure at expressing characters right, but i really don't understand why everyone always makes naruto out to be the idiot. sure, he kinda…**_**is **_**an idiot, but he is intelligent, loyal, a hard worker, and can be serious sometimes. and you know what? if you dont like it, i dont really care. :3 any way. uhm. enjoy? there will be smuts later, possibly. so yeah. be kind, and flames will be used to keep me warm and cook my hot cocoa. reviews are loved?**

**Chocolate Syrup**

**:chapter one:**

'**Gonna Go Out Tonight'**

The sheets rustle, sighing like waking ghosts rising with the morning sun. Egyptian cotton drinks in the morning light, the midnight fabric intensified by the glow. I shift my body slowly as the pinkish rays brush my face, and groan; body stretching and popping as I wiggle about. My eyes drift to the alarm clock beside me; the blinking digital numbers say six-thirty-two, which tells me I am awake nearly a half an hour before I need to be. But the morning sings and it echoes in my blood, so I fight my way out of my blankets and lumber into the bathroom.

Leaving the sink partially rinsed; the tooth paste bottle left uncapped and my hair comb on floor, I head to my closet, dripping towel clinging weakly around my waist. It slides off when I dig through my drawers for socks, but I don't bother to pick it up. No one here except me, and Jiriya doesn't show till nine-thirty. As my alarm goes off (seven o'clock will come and go), I have just managed to slip into my dress pants, and my shirt is still unbuttoned.

I climb across the bed, violently waving my hand out in an attempt to shut of the beeping beast, and in the end I accidentally swipe it off the bedside table.

oo

With a piece of chocolate syrup-spread toast clenched between my teeth and a cold cup of coffee in hand, I rush out the door. My tie is crooked and my shoes are scuffed; my hair is combed on one half and sticking out every which way on the other. I wave down a cab and he can barely speak English, so I struggle to explain where I have to go. Once he understands that I am heading to the Konoha police station of Eleventh and Fifty-second street, I spend the next twenty minutes listening to bad pop music. My chocolate toast rests on my lap, a single bit taken out and crumbs littering my lap. We hit a bump and I lose my coffee to the already-sticky cab floor. My driver assures me that it is no worry so I don't fuss over it.

oo

I jog up the four flights of stairs to my office, and sit down at my desk nearly forty minutes before I need to be there. The night-shifters are just coming in; their sleepy faces tell me everything I need to know. Another long night of failed raids. If I didn't feel bad for my friends on the night patrols, I would laugh, just because that meant that Sasuke failed. And I know how much my anal-retentive friend hates to fail.

Kiba, one of our canine-patrol officers, throws himself onto my desk as I turn to stare at my waking computer, and I glare at him; my blue eyes reflected in his over-sized aviators. "Get off my desk, fat ass," I grouch. Of course, listening to an order and being an all-round good citizen is a job reserved only for when Kiba is on the clock. On off-time, the dog-cop is a lazy bastard with a perverted mind.

"Lay off, Naruto," he groans, lifting my new cup of coffee(Hey! That cost me four bucks!) to his lips, "I just had the longest night in the world. Five raids, dude, five fucking raids and not a single thing to show for it."

I wince, because I know raids are tiresome. They take a lot of work to set up and they take a lot of energy. To execute It's the shits when you come out of a raid empty-handed. "Sounds harsh," I comment, stealing my coffee back and ignoring his heart-broken stare; you'd think I'd kicked his damn dog or something. I down the piping hot liquid and crumple the cup up; tossing it and missing the garbage bin.

"Totally. You have no idea, man. I was gunna go fucking insane. And Uchiha was off his rocker by the third raid. He threw a clip at Chouji," I look at him, frowning. He sees the look and grins, "Whoops. Forgot you just got back from vacation," Yes, warm beaches and pretty little women found in the walls of a hotel; an out-of-town job down in Suna district. A pleasant reprieve from Sasuke and the grimy, winding streets of Konoha, "Chouji is a new guy. Shikamaru insisted we check him out. I guess he worked down in the Iwa district for a while, he's a narcotics specialist, and since Sakura left to go into medicine, we've been looking for a narc. He's a good worker. But any way," I grin as Kiba tries to pull the conversation back onto track, "Uchiha threw a clip at Chouji and Shika went ballistic on his ass. The fucker ended up sending both Chouji and Shikamaru home! Can you believe it? It was me, the Hyuuga and Shino leading the groups. Only three of us!," I shake my head. Sasuke _must_ have been losing it to send two people home on a raiding night. Especially if one of those people is the team narc.

Kiba is still on a tangent when I glimpse Sasuke coming in. His hair is dripping and sticking to his face, and his skin is still pink. He must have had the heat full blast in the company shower. I chew my lip as he walks past, completely ignoring all of us and acting odd. I mean, it isn't a shock or anything; Sasuke seems to take pleasure out of ignoring others, but there is something off about him today. I scrunch my brows, but can't put my finger on it. I turn my attention, partially, back to Kiba, but I can hear Sasuke typing violently away on his computer and I can't help but look over.

"You should go talk to him," I jump out of my skin as the voice invades my thoughts, and turn my eyes to the Hyuuga, who is fiddling with his tie. He stares at me with his pale eyes (he's partially blind in the left one, but he trained himself from a young age, and has better aim then any other marksman on the force) and then gives me the smallest of his Neji-patent smiles; the kind that makes you feel like the fly being invited to tea by the hungry spider. Kiba looks disgusted by the suggestion, but with one swift kick to the shin, any complaints or comments he has are cut off.

oo

Ten feet can feel like miles when the guy your going to talk to is as emotionally distant as Sasuke. I tear at my choco-toast, which has gotten cold and slightly soggy (but still good), and stand before his desk; noting subtle differences in the fake wood patterns. I count the lines, trying to figure out what to say and I get so engrossed I don't even hear him until he chucks a pencil at my forehead.

"Ow! The hell, teme," I gripe, reverting back to preschool insults, "Whadya you do that!?"

"I said your name several times, _dobe_, and I only have so much patience this early in the morning," he barely looks me in the eye when he talks; too busy organizing papers and filling out reports so he can go home. I watch him; the way his fingers card the papers and the slight wrinkle on his brow from stress, and I know what I gotta do. Damn it.

"Let's go to the bar tonight," I say; reluctant and eager at the same time. Going to the bar is a age-old tradition with me and Sasuke. I usually have a drink or two, and he gets trashed, then I drive us home; he pukes on my wooden floors, I tuck him in on the couch and feed him hangover-breakfast in the afternoon the next day. It's fun, but I can't stand drunk Sasuke some days. He's either a complete asshole or a total dumbass.

"What time?" he says, and I can tell from the tone of his voice, that he's been repeating himself for a while now. I prematurely dodge a flying pencil and as I stand back up it pings me on the bridge of my nose.

"OW!" I bitch, giving him a look that says, '_Do you have to be such an ass!? That hurt!'; _a look he returns with a stare that simply says '_Do I look like I give a shit?_'.

"So, what time, dobe?"

"Huh? Oh, uhm," I frown, and tick off the hours off in my head. If I finish my paperwork early, I can probably get outta here by six, and then I need to go home and shower and change. I count of my fingers before finally coming up with a good time. "Eight-thirty sound good?" I smile, and he leans back in his desk after flourishing a paper with his twisting signature, nodding.

"You gonna pick me up?" he eyes me, daring me to say anything besides what he wants me to say. I pout, shoving my hands into my pockets. I hate driving, but I know he'll be asshole-Sasuke tonight if I make him ride a cab to the bar, so I clench my fists, rolling lint between my fingers, and reluctantly nod.

"But you hafta let me drive the bike," I can see his face twist, weighing the options. The 'bike' is my home-made crotch-rocket, and Sasuke absolutely hates it. But he'll ride it if it means not being in a smelly cab. I know he will.

"Fine," he grunts before packing up his papers and clearing off his desk. "See you at seven-thirty."

"Yeah ye--wait! I said eight-thirty!" I wave my arms about, but he only waves, back turned to me and jacket tossed over his shoulder. Damn it!

The pencil I chuck at his back bounces off the closing door on the elevator, and I spend the day fuming and barking orders at my subordinates.

oo

I roll the bike up to Sasukes apartment building, rumbling like a hungry beast, and pull into my usual spot. The engine dies with a purr and a sigh, and I give her mirror a quick wipe-down before I fix my helmet-hair and jog up to the buzzer. It screams at me when I press the button, and after a few more impatient buzzes, Sasuke's voice finally crackles to life.

"Yes?"

My teeth are chattering now, the night's chill crawling across my skin, and I can see fog on the edge of town. I glare at the speaker, as if he could see me, and clear my throat. "Let me in, teme, it's colder then a witches left tit out here," my teeth click as I talk and my breath curls before me; a little ghost of my soul. I hear him chuckle; sardonic and soothing, then the door buzzes and I jog inside. The warmth invades my body, curling up in my stomach like a radiating beast, and I shuck off my coat before opening the door to his apartment.

Sasuke is laying haphazardly on the couch, his shirt unbuttoned and one sock missing. This is the Sasuke only I get to see. He never acts completely relaxed around anyone (I can see the tension in his arms or his shoulder sometimes when we talk; the way he stiffens if someone gets to close), but I feel special that he tries to be at least a little less tight-assed around me. He looks up at me through untamed and uncombed sable bangs, his heavy eyes staring boredly at me. He glances at the clock, then back and smirks. "You're ten minutes late." the comment is meant to get under my skin, and oh yes, under my skin it does get.

"Fuck you, Sasuke. I told you fucking eight-thirty. I didn't finish paperwork till nearly six-thirty. And then there was traffic and getting a shower--"

"You could have come here and taken a shower," there is a tone in his voice, that one he used back when….well when we were something else. It still sends shudders up my spine, but I push the feeling away and race my fingers through my hair, pulling my golden bangs before my face in frustration.

"Sasuke," I sigh, looking at him now. He looks away, knowing he's some how crossed that line, and Sasuke never crosses the line.

"Whatever," he grunts, and because I know he can't just say sorry, I don't take offense. This is as close to an apology as one can get from Sasuke. He stares at the window, watching the fog rolling in, and I shove his legs off the couch so I can sit down. I figure I deserve a few minutes of rest before I go watch my best friend crash and burn at some run-down, smelly bar.

**a:n| horrible, i know. but please, leave a comment. :3**


End file.
